


Lost in Translation

by Kummerspeck7



Category: Royal Pains
Genre: Communication, Falling In Love, Foreign Language, Living Together, M/M, Water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 20:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kummerspeck7/pseuds/Kummerspeck7
Summary: Boris and Hank learn to communicate.





	Lost in Translation

Boris lay in his bed, a cloth covering his eyes, his mouth set in a frown. The blinds were drawn tightly against the sun. 

“So my eyes need to be closed for the next four hours?” He demanded archly.

“Four hours with your eyes closed and your blood pressure low, then you can resume normal activity.” I assured him.

He shook his head. “And if I decline to rest them?”

“I know you're busy, but you have to take care of yourself.” I reminded gently, catching his wrist in my hand.

“I have an overbooked afternoon with meetings, Hank. I need to be aware of the current situations and am unable to do so without being able to read the most updated information.” His pulse was starting to creep up beneath my fingers.

“Maybe I can help?” I offered. “I'll read your email, and you tell me how to reply. Your other option is permanently compromised vision.” 

Slowly Boris nodded his assent. “Very well. My laptop is on the bedside table.”

I picked it up, then moved to sit beside him in the bed. “Password?”

“Two, three, zero, eight, one, nine, seven, nine.” He calmly replied. 

“My birthday?” I asked, surprised. 

“How many new messages?” Boris inquired brusquely. Apparently he was planning on ignoring the question entirely.

“Fourteen.” I answered as I realized my mistake.

For some reason it hadn't occurred to me that most of Boris’ emails wouldn't be in English. I scanned the list, thrilled to notice that eight were, and that two more were in Spanish. That left four that I couldn't understand. 

“Read the subject lines and I'll have you reply if they require attention in the next few hours.” He instructed stiffly.

“Okay, the first one says 'Festung Expected Month End Data Analysis’.” I looked over at him.

“No, that will hold.” 

“Ah, this one's in Spanish. ‘Gracias Por la Introducción’.”

“That, too, will keep.” He said judiciously. “The next one?” 

I looked down the list. “It just says 'Pyongyang’.”

“Open it. Please.” His pulse accelerated slightly under my fingers. 

“It's short-- ‘Ist Ab... Abge… Ab-ge-sch-lo-ben? Abgeschloben’?” I attempted.

Boris frowned deeper. “Are you quite certain? Abgeschloben?”

I looked at the word before me again. “Yes. Well… Maybe?”

“What do you mean by maybe?” He asked slowly. I could feel his pulse quickening.

“You need to keep calm, remember? Your eyesight.” I reminded him.

“It's either a B or it isn't, Hank. It is vitally important--I cannot emphasize this enough.” He said through gritted teeth. 

“I think that's a B, but it's slanted and the line doesn't quite connect.” I replied.

He let out a long breath as he relaxed. “Abgeschloßen. It's pronounced like 'ss’.”

“So what's the difference between abgeschloben and abgeschlossen?” I asked, slightly irritated at being snapped at.

“Deportation versus completion. Likely a rather large international incident.” He answered unapologetically. “The next one?”

I stole a quick look at him before moving on to the next email in the queue, wondering what else got lost in translation between us.

&+&+&

Weltschmerz-- “Mental depression or apathy caused by comparison of the actual state of the world with an ideal state.”

-*-

It was quite the surprise when Hank entered the room, as I had asked not to be disturbed for the remainder of the evening. My suit coat and tie were tossed over the back of my chair, the top two buttons of my shirt were undone. Even my sleeves were rolled up. 

“Hank.” I said in greeting. “Drink?”

He tilted his head just a little, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. “You smell like you've been partaking for both of us.”

“Some days it becomes necessary.” I confirmed drunkenly.

“Yeah, that was almost a sentence.” Hank teased. “Why don't I sit down so you can talk about it.”

“I'm not sure that's a good idea. It's very dark.” I reasoned, then took a long drink of scotch. “You have historically not enjoyed your ventures into my world.” 

“If I didn't like your intrigue, I wouldn't be your friend.” He was using that comforting voice, the one that made people confess everything. “Why don't you try me.” 

His blue eyes stared into mine expectantly. The room spun slightly at the edges, but he remained steadfast.

“Very well. I try to make things better.” I admitted. “I spend so much time and money to try to make things better. I fund colleges and underdeveloped farming and medical research. I own so many charities I can hardly keep track of them.”

Hank frowned. I hated when he frowned. He shouldn't have to frown. “Boris, did something happen?”

I threw back the rest of my drink, much to the doctor's apparent alarm. “I run several corn cooperatives in Central America. One was razed to the ground and the farmers were slaughtered sometime this afternoon. They didn't even wait for nightfall to do it secretively. They wanted to send a message. Forty people gone so they could send me a message.”

“I'm sorry.” He said sincerely. “Did you know them well?”

One of his hands sought out mine and held fast to it. I looked at his fingers on mine. It was warm and reassuring and I rather enjoyed it, but he must have mistaken my look for one of displeasure because he pulled his hand back.

“I didn't know them at all.” I answered bitterly. “The world is an ugly place, Hank. But I don't want it to be. I work so hard to make it better.”

“You do make it better.” The man before me insisted.

“You don't understand.” I asserted over his protestations. “It's one of the things I very much enjoy about you. You don't suffer Weltschmerz. You heal all those you see and that's enough.”

“We both do what we can to help. And right now what I can do to help is to get you some water.” He smiled at me. “Remind me to get you drunk if I ever need information out of you.”

“I don't see you getting someone drunk to take advantage of them, no matter what the circumstances.” I informed him. “But even if you tried- I'm four inches taller, twenty pounds heavier, and half German half Russian. You wouldn't survive the attempt.”

Hank just laughed. I loved the sound of his laugh.

-*-

Wanderlust-- “A strong desire to travel.”

-*-

I looked across the cabin of my jet to where Hank was blissfully reclined in his seat. There was no doubt it was his seat, he always chose the one directly in front of me. Generally, like today, he would turn the seat to face me. We would talk, or read, or catch up on work. He seemed to particularly enjoy a racket he referred to as music, though I held a different opinion of it. Today there was a little smile on his lips and he was golden from the Tuscan sun. His white shirt was crisp and bright against his tan, his eyes as blue as the sky we were soaring through. 

“Hey, what's with the recent wanderlust?” Hank asked suddenly as he caught my gaze.

I lifted my shoulders slightly. “No Wanderlust.”

He looked at me suspiciously but said nothing. I had been truthful, I didn't care about the traveling. I just wanted to spend more time with him. 

It was just a small, harmless affection. It would pass. I'd fought the feelings at first; he was my doctor, my employee, my friend. I shouldn't want more, but I did. Ignoring him and removing myself from temptation appeared to be the most reasonable choice, but I couldn't find the desire to follow through. I didn't want to be without him. I liked him, and with each passing day I liked him more. 

“Thank you.” He said politely as the flight attendant handed him a glass of water.

His earnest smile had her nearly blushing. Something was sour in my stomach, but it had been an unusually tumultuous flight. Certainly that was the cause. As if to confirm my suspicions, the plane jolted as we hit a patch of turbulence. 

“You're wet.” I observed, gesturing for the attendant to bring a towel.

“Yeah.” Hank laughed a little as he stood. “Guess I should have gone for the bottle instead of the cup.”

His white button down had gone translucent and it clung to his defined core like a second skin. Slowly he reached for the hem and began to unbutton it. I tried to avert my eyes, but I couldn't seem to look away from the bronzed flesh he was revealing inch by glorious inch. I wanted that body below me and above me and every other conceivable way I could have it. I wanted to run my hands over his heated skin, to tease him until he begged for me. I wanted to watch his face as I made him come.

Now unbuttoned, he pulled the shirt from his shoulders, the musculature in his arms rippling as he did so. He was looking at me with one of those radiant smiles he favored. 

“See anything you like?” He asked, gesturing towards my lap.

“Ah, what?” I replied thickly.

He tilted his head in that endearing way he had. “In your magazine. You haven't turned the page in like ten minutes.” 

Mercifully, the attendant arrived with a towel. This affection needed to pass.

-*-

Torschlusspanik-- “As one gets older, the fear that time is running out and important opportunities are slipping away.”

-*-

I watched Hank with his new flavor of the moment. They were so wrong for one another, why couldn't anyone see it? She was positively grating with her coy smiles and twittering, vapid laugh. Hank stood about eighteen inches away from her, respecting social decorum as one should. She kept inching closer, touching his arm with her harlot red nails.

“What was it Ms Starling does again?” I asked with feigned interest.

“I'm a project analyst at NASA.” She said while flipping her dyed caramel blonde hair. She was too young for him, her and her cloying affects.

“You work in technology?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“She's too modest.” Hank positively cooed. “Claire has PhDs in astrophysics, engineering, and Latin.”

“Not much of a market for that last one!” She joked. I barely kept an eye roll in check. “And what is it you do, Boris?”

“I have many pursuits.” I evaded. 

“Oh, so you're a socialite!” She exclaimed excitedly. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Oh, do you not know that word in English? It's like the Kardashians! Or the Royal Family, though I guess they do a lot of charity work. Hey, I think Evan said you're noble, right? Have you ever met Princess Kate? I'm just obsessed with her. I woke up at four in the morning just to watch her wedding!” She tossed her hair again. I despised her.

I turned to look at Hank, who was positively mooning over her. He didn't even look phased by her lack of tact or decency. He looked… Amused. It hurt. I hadn't expected it to hurt. 

“The term is ‘wastrel’.” I informed her pointedly.

She pat me on the arm as her phone began to ring. “Don't be so hard on yourself. I've got to take this, excuse me boys!”

She walked out of the room as she answered the call. She'd insulted me no less than three times, taken a call during a conversation. They looked happy, but there was always a chance she could be gone just as fast as the others-

“I'm really starting to see a future with her.” Hank sighed happily.

I could feel the cold fingers of fate gripping my chest. He could settle down with her, move out of the guest house, make little sun kissed children with her. She would put an end to our long adventures. Hank would be lost to me. It was unacceptable. I was greedy for his time and attention and anything else that kept him close.

“Boris? Are you okay? You look a little pale.” The man before me asked quietly.

Ms Starling chose that moment to come teetering back into the room with her too high heels. My feeling of Torschlusspanik worsened the closer she came. 

“If you'll excuse me.” I said, turning away. I heard her quietly ask Hank where I was going. He changed the subject.

-*-

Zugzwang-- “To be forced to make a decision.”

-*-

I looked at Hank. He glared back. Tension crackled in the air. 

“I just don't get you, Boris. Sometimes it's like we're friends and sometimes you act like my principal. I never know what I'm getting into with you!” He yelled.

“I'm hardly your principal.” I said stoutly, crossing my arms.

“Then why? Why are you constantly questioning and disapproving of my life? What about my relationship is relevant to your big, mysterious existence?” He was still yelling, pacing the room like a caged tiger. “For a guy who seems to never have had a serious relationship, you really seem to know it all!’

“I don't seem to recall your relationships being terribly lasting, either.” I snapped back.

“That's not the point and you know it.” He slammed a hand down on my desk.

“Then what is the point, exactly?” I demanded.

“Since you know everything, please! Tell me! Impart to me your boundless wisdom.” He retorted sarcastically. 

He wasn't going to forget this line of questioning and I couldn't deflect it. My back was to the wall- I was in Zugzwang with everything to lose if I said something, and everything to lose if I didn't. It was time to make a decision.

“Fine. Do you want to know what I think?” I asked angrily, stalking around the desk to get closer.

“Why don't you tell me, Boris. What do you think?” Hank spat back as he took a step towards me.

I grabbed him by the collar and dragged his lips to mine. His hands came up and I readied myself for the blow, but one never came. Instead they ran through my hair and pulled me closer. His lean body plastered itself to me, tempting me, promising me things I desperately wanted.

“I think you have driven me to distraction since first we met. The only thing I don't enjoy about you is your taste in women, because I am completely besotted with you. That is my problem.” I growled. “I like you far beyond the limits of friendship and no matter how inconvenient I can't seem to stop how you make me feel.”

I dropped my mouth to his again, kissing him deeply, taking complete control. He was pliant in my arms, the long panes of his body pleasing to my roaming hands. I wanted him, and he should be mine.

“I was really getting worried I was going to have to marry her before you said anything.” Hank murmured as he slowly loosened my tie. “And she is really not my type.”

“What?” I asked, unable to believe my own ears.

“Dr Starling is a friend from college who broke up with her boyfriend the first week of summer and needed a place to stay until Labor Day. I decided to try your way of getting things done, since you apparently didn't notice any of my usual moves.” He was positively smirking.

“Usual… Moves?” I repeated dumbly as he nipped at my earlobe. His fingers were already making quick work of divesting me of a shirt.

“I started touching you more. I sat beside you in your bed when you were having the eye thing. I held your hand while you were drunk. I complimented your eyes and hair and muscles and skin. I told you I liked you too much.” He paused to kiss me again, long and deep. He tasted as good as he smelled. I couldn't wait for more, I'd waited too long already. “But you didn't notice any of it. I literally poured a glass of water on myself and paraded around shirtless in front of you. Nothing.” His fingers danced over my skin. “Then Claire needed a place to stay, and you were miserable. So I came up with a plan.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” I demanded, daring to kiss him again. He moaned slightly as I cupped the back of his head and held him tight to me. “Your impressive forthrightness is one of the things I most enjoy about you.” 

“Boris, you're my patient. I couldn't. Ethics.” He answered simply. 

“And those ethics are no longer incongruous with the current situation?” I clarified, glancing down at my unbuttoned shirt.

He smiled at me. “You need to find a new primary. I have a significant conflict of interest.”

“Good.” I leaned against the desk and pulled him to me. “Stay the night?”

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Hank asked mischievously while a hand effortlessly removed my belt.

“Of course.” I affirmed. How could I forget? I'd been fascinated with him even then, even if I hadn't imagined this as a possibility then.

“I wanted you that night, but I need you now. Right here, on this desk. I want to taste you.” His voice was a husky whisper as he unfastened my trousers and got on his knees.

“I would be very much amenable to that.” I assured him.

-*-

Sehnsucht-- “An intense, inconsolable longing or yearning.” 

-*-

Hank was gone to a medical conference in San Francisco. He left on a Sunday afternoon. I missed him, but how bad could a paltry five days without him be after years of solitude?

On Monday I had a few meetings in Manhattan, then had dinner with some friends. After they'd gone I stood on my penthouse balcony and impulsively sent Hank a picture of the nighttime skyline over Central Park. A minute later I received a picture of sunset over the San Francisco Bay. I couldn't seem to sleep that night, tossing and turning in a bed that was too big and too empty.

Tuesday I flew to Paris. I spent hours pouring over the negotiation points and strategies, the counter arguments. It was good to be productive, it distracted me from how surprisingly lonesome I felt without Hank by my side. That night I couldn't stop thinking about how much better I slept with him beside me. I'd gotten used to sleeping six or occasionally even seven hours a night, and in doing so had forgotten how miserable it was to sleep four broken hours. As the minutes ticked into hours I wondered how he was, how the conference was going, how he was sleeping.

On Wednesday I awoke to a text from Hank wishing me ‘whatever the Boris version of luck is’. I tucked my phone into the breast pocket of my suit coat, then started the day. Negotiations began half past five in the morning. We worked through lunch, ignored dinner. Finally, at just past eight, a deal was reached. Getting into the car was bliss, the ride to the hotel extravagantly peaceful. I messaged Hank as I entered my rooms.

Deal is complete, thanks in part to your well wishes this morning.

What to do with the remainder of the evening. I wasn't hungry, I wasn't tired. My phone buzzed.

Lunch in 15 will call

I poured myself a generous drink and grabbed a cigar from the humidor to celebrate the success. I wasn't sure what I would do with the extra fifteen million dollars a year the contract would bring in. I was considering a medicine related scholarship fund when my phone buzzed once more. 

“Hank.” I greeted warmly.

“Hey! You sound triumphant- it went well?” His enthusiasm always brightened my day. 

“How do you feel about the Lawson Medical Scholarship?” I asked brazenly. “Just the contract bonus should fund it for the next thirty years. How is your conference?” 

“It’s good. I feel like it's been forever since I've gotten to talk to you.” Hank said in a rush. It was much more sentimental than I expected, which pleased me greatly.

“Yes.” I agreed. “It's good to hear your voice.”

“Boris.” He teased. “Do you miss me?”

“After fifteen hours of tense negotiation today? Of course I miss you.” I murmured into the phone. “But I also missed you Sunday, as soon as you were gone.”

It was more than that. I longed for his touch, his voice, his expressions, his constant and frequently unsolicited opinions. I missed the smell of his skin when I held him to me and the feeling of completeness he brought to my life. I wanted to be there with him to celebrate my business success and to assure him his panel would go well. 

“So do I. Thank you for the room upgrade, by the way. The view over the Bay is amazing.”

I could envision us standing by the bank of windows in the suite, watching the sunset together. I had to remind myself that I couldn't drop everything and fly across the world on a whim. I had responsibilities and obligations to attend to, I couldn't indulge myself in such a flight of fancy.

“Living at Shadow Pond will spoil you for standard accommodations. I want for you to be comfortable on your trip.” I casually mentioned.

“I still don't officially live with you, remember?” He stubbornly insisted.

A twinge of irritation nagged at me. “How could I forget? Your clothes are in our closet and we've been sharing a bed every night since I confessed my affections, but you leave that one suitcase in the guesthouse.” 

“Why don't we talk about this back at Shadow Pond?” He demurred.

“Perhaps when you return and unpack you could just put it in our closet? There's ample room.” I suggested. 

We both knew he wasn't even using the cheap nylon bag he insisted on leaving at the guest house like some life line. He'd been using my luggage for months, since a well meaning maid had first packed for him before one of our trips. 

“I'll think about it.” I could nearly hear him rolling his eyes. 

“Do.” I said seriously. “To be quite frank I can't seem to sleep without you. I'll carry the damned thing over myself if I have to.”

“Really?” He asked gently before a cacophony of voices came from his end of the line. “Yeah, I know. Okay. Okay. Hey, I have to go- But Boris?” 

“Yes?” 

“I wish you were here.”

There was an earnest twinge in his voice, a sadness. Perhaps I was not the only one suffering Sehnsucht. Perhaps I was not too duty bound to surprise him, after all. California was only fourteen hours away by jet.

-*-

Gemütlichkeit-- “A feeling of comfort and warmth simultaneously in both one's body and soul.”

-*-

I almost didn't mind the alarm waking me up. It was just past twilight, the room lightening as the minutes crept by. I took my time waking up, enjoying the warmth and softness of the bed. I didn't even open my eyes. Boris’ arm was heavy on my waist, his breath warm on my neck. I relaxed into his hold. Gemütlichkeit, that's what he'd called it.

It was about a month ago during an unseasonably frigid May evening. We were pressed together on the couch, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh, a fire going to keep us warm. I was reading a mystery novel while Boris read something in a language I definitely didn't recognize. His hand rested on my leg until he had to turn the page, then returned. We'd been like that for a couple of hours when I realized he hadn't flipped a page in a while.

I glanced over and found myself the subject of one of Boris’ evaluating looks. 

He ran his thumb over my jaw as I turned to look at him, then pressed his lips gently to mine. His hand caressed my cheek and moved to run through my hair. 

‘What are you thinking about?’ I'd asked, closing my book.

‘Gemütlichkeit.’ He had answered simply.

‘Vegetables?’ I'd clarified, surprised.

'Ah, no. You're thinking of Gemüse.’ He'd corrected with a small smile. ‘Gemütlichkeit doesn't have an English equivalent. It is hard to describe. Cozy I think comes closest, though that's like comparing a candle to the sun-It's when you feel absolute comfort from your skin to your soul. It is all encompassing. Do you see what I'm saying?’

I did.

Just as I was about to curl deeper into his embrace, something struck me. I was in San Francisco at a medical conference, not home at Shadow Pond. Boris couldn't be here with me because he was in Paris. A mix of panic and adrenaline surged through me while I sat up and spun around, turning to look at who was beside me in the bed.

It was him. He was breathing slowly and regularly in his sleep. A slight beard shadow dusted his usually immaculate jaw, his silver hair was ruffled, the blanket was pulled up to just under his chin. His suit and dress shirt were on the chair beside the bed, next to his suitcase and carry on. He'd come all the way from Paris because I'd missed him.

With the exception of Evan and eventually my father, it had always been hard for me to tell people I loved them. I had never said it to Jill while we were dating. I wouldn't say it in front of other people during my relationships with Nikki or Charlotte, which both of them hated. I hadn't said it to Boris yet. I wanted to, I did love him, that was obvious. I'd never felt anything that could compare to my feelings for him, so why I was struggling to say it was beyond me. I wanted to know what it would feel like to finally get it out- Even if he was sleeping and couldn't hear me.

“I love you.” I said softly while I ran my thumb over his stubble. 

A warmth radiated through me, the feeling of absolute rightness. He was the most perfectly imperfect human, and he was mine. And I was so incredibly lucky to be his.

“Surprise.” Boris grumbled from beneath the duvet as he began to stir.

“When did you get here?” I asked, still amazed. “We were just talking on my lunch break!”

“I boarded my plane at half past ten, got off just shy of twelve hours later, an hour to get here, nine hour time difference… Two in the morning.” He murmured without opening his eyes.

I leaned down to press a kiss on his lips. “You are the best. I can't believe you're really here.”

“I'm going to rest a bit longer, but I'll be there for your panel at two this afternoon.” He said sleepily. “I also brought something for you, it's in my carry on.”

“You'll need a pass to get in, I’m sure there's an extra floating around. I'll ask around.” I replied while grabbing my clothes for the day.

“That's not necessary.” He answered. “I received a pass two months ago.”

“Why would they have sent you a pass?” I questioned while I buttoned my shirt.

“I fund a considerable amount of medical research.” He answered after a yawn. “I usually send an agent to pass along any pertinent information.”

“Of course you do.” I replied with a laugh.

I laced my dress shoes then went over to his carry on and started rummaging through it. Finally I found it wrapped in one of his monogrammed pocket squares- A croissant, all the way from Paris.

“It was fresh when I left.” He said apologetically.

“You're the only person I know who would apologize for the croissant they brought from Paris.” I teased as I took a bite.

Boris grimaced. “You eat like an American.”

I rolled my eyes as I moved to kiss him. “Thank you for bringing it back, it tastes amazing. I'll see you this afternoon.”

“And Hank?” He added as I went to leave the room.

“Yes?” I answered.

“I love you, too.”

-*-

Erklärungsnot-- “Having to explain yourself quickly.”

-*-

The fourteen uniform black boxes were spread out along the table in the upstairs office. The twelve carefully spaced, glittering rings in each box stared back at me. It was a complete collection, every ring an heirloom worn by a man in my family. Most of them were unsuitable for everyday wear, so I set them to one side. Some were significantly too large or too small. They, too, were removed as possibilities. Some had tall settings. Those would never work under all the medical gloves Hank wore.

I took my father's wedding band out of my breast pocket. The pavé diamonds and sapphires glinted from the platinum setting. Truth be told, I was uncertain if my father would have liked Hank. He lived and died by the aristocracy, intensely reserved and always formal. I found Hank to be refreshing and vivacious, my father would have seen him as irreverent. He would have blamed Hank for the end of our line even though I had made the decision not to reproduce long before we met. 

‘Boris,’ He'd once told me after the dementia set in. ‘The lineage of our family is all that matters. It's why I forgave your mother despite her indiscretion.’

I looked at the ring again, slid it on and off my finger. I wanted to wear it, but was it appropriate? I could vividly remember him in his study, looking over huge stacks of paper and signing them with long, elegant strokes. I could remember the set line of his jaw, the way his reading glasses slipped on his nose, how his silver pen and platinum ring would flash in the light. Occasionally if he were in an excellent mood he would glance at the picture of us he kept in his bottom left drawer. He loved us. Family was important to him. I admired him. As a child I'd worshipped the cool, calm, powerful man he almost always seemed to be.

Suddenly the door swung open, and Hank was standing before me in the door frame. What was he doing home? He was supposed to be working late, he had three patients in surgery today. 

“There you are! Udo said you were in the downstairs office, then the library, and then he just disappeared-” He stopped to look at the array of rings before me. “What's with the jewelry?”

“I'm looking for something to replace my signet ring.” I answered, hiding my father's wedding band against my palm.

He put his hand against my forehead with a frown. “No fever.”

I brushed his hand away. “I'm fine. Was there something you required?”

Regret immediately curled inside me as Hank gave me one of his false smiles, the one with the hard edges that didn't touch his eyes. “No. I'll go.”

“Hank.” I said frustrated and guilty. “I was looking through the rings and I found my father's. It brings up a great deal of feelings for me. I apologize for my shortness.”

It was technically true, but Hank saw half truths and lies the same way. It was not how I imagined the day going. I was supposed to find the perfect ring and spend the rest of the evening at leisure.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, putting a hand on my arm. “I don't need to be back at the hospital until ten tonight.”

I nearly declined until he looked at me with those expectant blue eyes. I had navigated the shark filled waters of business and finance without half so much trouble as I seemed have with him and his good intentions.

“He entrusted it to me when the dementia set in. He was careless with investors and the businesses, but never with his marriage. He wanted me to have it, to remember that whatever I saw him suffer, it was for our lineage.” I informed him.

Hank frowned slightly. “Where did Dmitry fit into that?”

“Not afraid to ask the hard questions.” I murmured. “It was complicated, as many things are. They were an advantageous match betrothed before kindergarten, Mother's heritage guaranteeing Father's family’s safety after the Second Great War.” I paused, then realized I hadn't actually answered his query. “It was not an uncommon occurrence for advantageous matches to have… Paramours on the side.”

“I thought you said your father loved her?” He gently asked. I could see him trying to fit the puzzle together in his mind.

“He did.” I confirmed. “Mother was… Effervescent. When she was happy, she was like being around sunshine. She would organize picnics on the lawn and bake the desserts herself. She planned gorgeous charity galas. She was a flawless dancer.”

Hank nodded. Of course he effortlessly understood, the man bled empathy. “And when she wasn't happy?”

“Her moods were ephemeral; she easily fell into melancholy. During his decline my father once told me that he could never be all she needed- She needed to be told she was loved, and he couldn't do it. Not enough to make her happy. I remember how she would leave to visit friends and my father would stare out the window for hours until she returned. He was a large, striking man, and he looked even larger when he would do that. But I knew he was distressed, because he would twist his ring while she was gone. He missed her, I think. Perhaps resented himself for not being enough, for letting her go. Then when she died- He didn't expect to outlive her. He never recovered. He fell ill shortly after.”

“It's hard to accept your parents were people. Especially when they're gone and everyone wants to saint them.” He said softly, taking my hand in his.

“I've had his ring with me for a long time now. It's the first time I've ever considered wearing it.” I replied absently.

“Wait.” He furrowed his brow as he looked at me. “If you already had your father's ring, why bring out all the cases and go through them?”

A moment of Erklärungsnot. I'd built a house of half truths, and with one minor observation it had all come crashing down. I needed to come up with an explanation, but nothing came. 

Mercifully, he looked over my shoulder and didn't require an answer “They are nice. The gold one there and this one look like they match. Was it your mother's?” 

I turned to see which one he was talking about. “No, that was my great grandfather's. The one who built Festung and Shadow Pond. My father's wedding band was based off its design, platinum instead of gold and sapphires instead of rubies.”

“It's incredible.” Hank breathed as he took a closer look. He seemed entranced. “What was he like?”

“Of course he passed long before I was born, but I have heard he was exceedingly kind and very hard working. He came to America ready to make a fresh start after the nobility was stripped of its privileges in Germany. He was an innovator, very creative.” A lot like you, I added silently.

“He sounds remarkable.” Hank said while trying and failing to drag his eyes away from it.

“He was.” I agreed, plucking the ring from the box. “I think he would have liked you.”

-*-

Erbsenzähler-- “Someone who is obsessed with details and a bit of a control freak.”

-*-

“Are you sure you want to invite all these people, Mr 'I-value-my-privacy’?” Hank asked from where he was sitting on my desk, looking over the nineteen pages of names on the guest list.

“As sacrosanct as my privacy is, yes. I'm quite looking forward to this.” I affirmed.

“This has to be what, a thousand people?” He looked closer at the list. “The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge? Isn't that-”

“I'd hate to deprive Dr Sterling of the pleasure. The list is only eight hundred and forty seven people. Shorter than the first two drafts, I assure you.” I informed him as I moved to stand between his legs.

“You seem to have this well planned.” Hank remarked slyly as he wrapped his arms around my neck.

“Three hundred staff, seventy two tables, eighteen hundred linen rentals, twenty thousand stems for floral arrangements. All carefully chosen.” I answered, only slightly distracted by the kisses he was trailing up my jaw.

“Erbsenzähler.” He whispered huskily in my ear.

“Perhaps teaching you German was a mistake?” I teased.

“Communication is key to a good relationship.” He answered. Then he kissed me.

**Author's Note:**

> Not my favorite thing that I've ever written, but fun to write. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
